#verahouse

It was called the Close Line Project and it was an exhibit put on by Vera House. We stood there for what felt like forever reading every single shirt. Every single word that these people that experienced such destruction had to say. We both stood there with tears in our eyes..in silence. We would point at one that was particularly moving but didn’t really say much to each other.  It was a very empowering experience.  And a very personal one as well.

I have struggled with writing this since I got the idea for this entry. Not because I am afraid of people hearing my story but the emotions that it might bring up. But often times a little self reflection can be cathartic  and can also help others who may have similar experiences as me.

After all, that’s what this blog is intended for. To make myself and others feel like they aren’t alone in the struggle.

I am an independent woman. Hear me roar.  

For a long time now, I have lived a life where I don’t need anyone. Like I said before, I live alone. I pay my bills. I live pretty comfortably. I have made a life for myself that makes it hard for me to bring anyone else into it. I have a barrier up against people. I am a take no crap kind of person. I come off as shy a lot of the time but I have an Irish temper. I am fiercely protective of my friends, especially when it comes to other guys that hurt them. I am overly cautious about where I go, and who I go with. New people freak me out. I try to blame it on my introversion, but I know that’s not true.. because really I’m not an introvert at all. I am friendly to everyone but I only have a few close friends. Very few people in my life get deeper than the surface. I am guarded, and cautious, and mostly ruled by fear.

I always ask myself, why can’t I lighten up? Why can’t I just go out and meet new people... Have new experiences. You know, like a normal person.  Why don’t you accept more of the dates you are asked on? Why are you constantly questioning peoples motives? Why don’t you put yourself out there more? Why do you ask every man that asks you out of he is a murderer?

There is one word that can encompass the reason for all of those questions.

Anxiety.

Throughout my college years, I never had a problem. I would meet anyone, do anything, go anywhere.

That all changed the night of November 20, 2010.

1 in 3 women are victims of sexual assault. 1 in 3.  I am part of that statistic.

I went to a bar to meet some friends for some drinks. Most people that know me, know that I am not a big drinker. I never have been and never will be. That night, I decided I was going to be a drinker. My friend that I had gone with had left the bar without me and without telling me for the night but I didn’t want to leave.  My friend offered to let me stay at his apartment above the bar. So I agreed and continued on with my night.

I continued to drink in a room full of strangers. I continued to drink in an apartment full of strangers.  I fell asleep at some point on the couch in a room full of strangers.

I woke up in a different room than where I fell asleep with someone touching me. Someone on top of me licking my face and trying to get in to my pants. Thank Dumbledore for the existence of SPANKS. It took me a few seconds to realize what was happening.

I punched him in the face. And he stopped. He got off of me and disappeared. 

I laid there for a minute or two trying to figure out what to do. Trying to understand what had just happened for me. Thinking about  LUCKY I was that I could stop something like that from happening to me because a lot of other women aren't as lucky. I was in a pitch black room and realized he was sitting in the chair next to me staring at me.

I got up and found my shoes and my purse and walked out of the house and didn’t look back. To this day, I have no idea who it was.  To this day I can never point at anyone and say “That is the man that tried to rape me”.

I called my friend to come get me... I couldn’t breathe or speak I was crying so hard. I sat down on the sidewalk and started to hyperventilate. I realized my pants were unbuttoned and unzipped. She came and got me and I cried..and cried.. and cried. I didn’t eat for days after that. I couldn’t do anything but cry.

I told my family because I didn’t want to be one of those people that kept it inside and suffered in silence. My friend that came to pick me up that night...never spoke to me again.

After that night... that one night, I developed a bit of anxiety. I don’t get panic attacks, but I get terrible stomachaches when I am about to go in to a new situation.  When I am going to be in a room full of people that I don’t know I try to come up with reasons why I shouldn’t go. Every where I go,  with the exception of a few friends, I have to drive myself. I need to have an exit strategy. I don’t like staying places overnight. I don’t like feeling like I am trapped.  

Because of that one night.. because of that “man” my life was changed forever.

So here I am trying to date.. trying to meet strangers out in public and all I can think of is what could go wrong. I worry about being in danger. I worry about how to leave a situation that I don’t want to be in for fear that I am going to be hurt.

That is a HUGE barrier that I work every day to overcome.

I guess there is always a silver lining to every bad situation. From that experience I realized a lot about myself. And one of those things I realized is that I identify as a feminist. I am a feminist because I am one of the lucky ones. I am a feminist because I find it appalling that a woman has to change the way she walks, the way she talks, what she says, who she’s with, where she goes, how she arrives and leaves, how she dresses, how she acts, all for the purpose of self protection to not be raped. I will shout from the rooftops about the way women should be treated.  I am independent not because I want to be.. but because I need to be. Sometimes I am little outspoken about this.  I will fight anyone to the death about why feminism is necessary. I have a stance. I have an opinion.  You will hear me. 

But I also do it for my friends that who have had similar experiences.  I do it for people I don’t know who share this experience with me. 

I was lucky. I try to tell myself that every day. But I know a lot of women aren’t.  I know a lot of women are in dangerous situations and don’t know it until it’s too late. 

I am not jaded because I want to be... I am jaded because life has taught me that I need to be.

It is a daily struggle for me to not let this experience affect my life. Now that I am trying to date, it seems to rear it’s ugly head more than I would like it to. I am hoping that with sharing my story that I can start to heal. That I can start to move forward and start giving life a little bit more of a chance. To let more people in to my bubble ( within reason) than I usually do.

Maybe try to be a bit more trusting of people. Maybe try to force myself to experience more new things with new people. When I have that feeling of panic that I don’t to do something or go somewhere, I should move through it and see what else life has to offer.

I want to see the world. I want to travel. I want to volunteer. I want to meet as many people as I possibly can. I want to have as many amazing experiences in this life of mine that I can.

I need to learn that this experience does not dictate how I live the rest of my life.

“This asshole robbed me of my peace of mind and my right to associate and socialize with whomever I want. All men have us looking over our shoulders.”

All forward motion counts.